No Man's Land
by quotient
Summary: There are some ghosts you spend your life hunting, and then there are those you know you'll never find.


Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue

**No Man's Land**

There are some ghosts you can spend your life hunting. They are not tangible, but they are vulnerable. Unfortunately both John and Sam know that Dean is not a ghost, as much as in some twisted part of their minds they want him to be.

* * *

When their Dad finally calls, Sam doesn't say anything but hello and good-bye, but he still drives three hundred miles or so to meet him at the designated meeting point.

He pushes the car too hard, and meets with a delay midway between nowhere and somewhere. He calls for help, and while he waits, secures the weapons in the secret compartment so that he won't accidentally be arrested. The tow truck comes four hours later. The driver's big and not particularly friendly. They sit in complete silence until they arrive at the nearest town.

Sam is there for all of three days before he's on the move again. The oil's been changed, and the windows have been cleaned. He doesn't like how he feels in it. It's too comfortable and familiar.

It's too much like Dean.

* * *

This isn't something John can make sense of, so Sam doesn't explain it to him. They sit in a diner where the waiter doesn't give you service with a smile. Everything on the menu promises shorter lives. Sam doesn't miss the large meal his father orders, eggs, and bacon, toast. A cup of coffee as well, even though it's sometime in the afternoon.

"I've lost it." John says. His eyes are distant, stuck on what could have been. "I was so close, but then it was gone." He doesn't say he doesn't think he'll ever find it again while he's still alive. He doesn't ask where Dean is.

Sam shrugs, "You'll go back to the beginning."

And John will. Sam can already see his father, years from now, pushing seventy, eighty if he's lucky, eaten by revenge and senility, and maybe a bit of cancer thrown into the mix from the smoking he still does occasionally. Sam doesn't want that.

They sit together in silence, hearing everything that's missing. There's nothing here that keeps them grounded. If they tried to reconnect, it would fall apart faster than it currently is. Dean was middle ground. Dean bridged their trenches.

The waiter brings more coffee. The distance between them grows. Sam has a decision, but he doesn't know if it's the right one.

* * *

Sam is pretty sure their father thinks Dean is dead. The way he moves around Sam, avoiding getting into arguments about duty, family, and the past. John didn't question him when Sam answered Dean's phone, again. He didn't even pretend to look surprised when Sam turned up alone. There is a painful possibility in that. It means his father must have known something, but what?

John has two rooms in a small motel. Sam's room is a single bed with a television and a window that looks out over the parking lot. Their dad's room looks the same. It's rather terrifying. Sam was never unobservant. He can tell they're more alike than either one cares to admit. And, unfortunately, in the Winchester family, there are no bonding moments to heal the awkwardness and fear between them.

Dean is gone.

Sam hates the fact that for the life of him, he can't remember ever appreciating Dean's mediator qualities better than now that he's not here. It makes him feel miserable. It also makes him want to go out and shoot something.

He slips out to a bar instead.

Midway through his second beer, already feeling dizzy, Sam steals a pen from a nearby server and starts a list on the back of a napkin.

_All the things Dean made easier_

At the top of the list, he puts Dad.

* * *

"I don't think it was supernatural. I mean, it could have been, I suppose, but I don't think so. Maybe. The police couldn't find anything, but then again, I couldn't really give them any good information to go on, beyond a description, and even that was sketchy. He is legally dead. So I did an investigation of my own, with the EMF reader and everything, but there was nothing to find."

"You did everything you could."

"He could be lying dead somewhere. He could be at the bottom of the river, or something. I checked the hospitals, too. He's gone."

"He never would have left voluntarily."

Sam likes to think that too.

* * *

When they were kids, Sam remembers Dean being every bit the older brother. He teased, he pushed, he drove Sam crazy. He broke some of the rules, he surprised, he laughed at and with Sam. With Dean, life was always so normal.

With his dad, Sam's memories are vague. He was barely ever around John alone. Dean was John's confidant, and Dean was Sam's confidant. There was one time that stands out in Sam's memory like a sore thumb, where Dean was sick, and asleep in bed. Sam had crept downstairs in the evening after spending hours by his brother's bedside, and found John quietly looking at old photographs. Sam had tried to be quiet, but his father had heard him. He'd motioned for Sam to join him.

"Come here, Sammy."

Sam had obediently climbed up on his father's lap, and together they had relived old memories. Here was Sam at age four playing with a little toy truck, and there was Dean holding Sam, smiling into the camera and missing two front teeth.

That was the first and last time Sam can remember that their father during his reminisces had not mentioned their mother's death or what it had been like before. It was the one time when John had been the true parent, aware of his children and the need to move on.

Sam hates that memory, because it shows how pointless their current situation is. Sometimes, while he's driving behind his father's car as they make their way back to California, he wonders if that memory offers the answer to why.

* * *

He has a dream where he's sitting on a familiar bed in a familiar room. Dean grabs his leather jacket, throwing it on carelessly over a Metallica t-shirt, and yanking open the door.

"I hope you figure it out. I'm outta here."

Even though Sam knows this is the last time he will ever see his brother, even though he knows the last words they speak to each other will be words of anger, he can't make himself move. Dean slams the door behind him, and Sam wakes up.

Several days before they reach California, Sam and their dad stop in a small town where they manage to corner a demon.

"Your brother is in hell right now. He burns with your girlfriend, and they both curse your name." It says.

Afterwards, John lays a hand on Sam's shoulder saying, "It's not true."

But the words are empty.

* * *

This is the end of what has been a long time. John accompanies him into the registrar's office. It doesn't take much to convince the University to take Sam back. He's been through a lot.

They stand together in the parking lot. Sam still has friends here. He has a place to stay, and can still achieve a full education, even if it takes a little more time. To Sam, this is better than before because they're talking this time around.

In the back of the Impala, there is an extra duffel bag full of dirty laundry that is still waiting for a cheap Laundromat. There is a box of tapes that no one has a use for anymore. In the trunk, there are still weapons, each one carefully in its place from the last hunt.

John helps Sam move into his friend's apartment. The friend helps them, leaving them alone once everything is done.

Sam gives John back the journal. "Here. I don't need it anymore."

"Sammy…"

"It's Sam." And it is.

Their dad takes the journal. Sam stands in the middle of the room, watching the suddenly ancient man who had once been his father, leave. He knows inside that these are the last words they will ever say to each other, and Sam wishes it were easier.

But the bridge is gone, and all that's left is no man's with an unreachable body in the middle waiting in the hot sun for the vultures of the remaining Winchester's minds.


End file.
